


A Promise

by SrebrnaFH



Series: Monday Fix-Its [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Episode Fix-It: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Episode Fix-It: s03e01 Empty Hearse, Fix-It, Post-Reichenbach, Pre and Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-14 09:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16910085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: Sherlock comes back and is met with John's fists.Just like he is supposed to be.Monday Fix-its is a series of one-shots (or two-parters) that take a piece of cannon BBC Sherlock and fix it so that JohnLock would happen. It won't necessarily happen IN the story, but it is the aim or each of these stories. HEA for our boys is the priority.





	A Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Another fix-it, a bit twisted, I suppose.  
> But it helps, at least I think so.

He hit Sherlock as hard as he could. Headbutted him, then slapped, then... The list went on and on, across several different eateries, accompanied by Mary's sounds of distress and complaints from various patrons.  
He drew his shoulder back and put his weight into each punch. Gave the detective a nosebleed. Probably added to the collection of bruises the man seemed to be hiding under that ridiculous coat.  
He had considered kicking him a few times for good measure, but decided against it - his hands would be quite enough for the purpose.  
He hoped that had gotten the message across.

John's fists ached as he sat in his - Mary's - living room and watched the wall.  
John's heart ached.  
John hoped that Mycroft would have someone ready to tend to Sherlock's wounds and that he hadn't broken anything.  
He sighed and rubbed his face with both hands.

_It was late when he came home, but the flat was dark. He reached to the switch, but Sherlock's muted "Don't" stopped him at the last moment._  
_"You almost gave me a heart attack! Why are you sitting here like that?"_  
_His friend turned to him, pale face contrasting wildly against the black coat he was wrapped in._  
_"There may be a time," he started without preamble "when I will have to lie to you."_  
_"You always lie to me, Sherlock," he shrugged and toed off his boots. "Nothing new here."_  
_"John, please," the baritone sounded pained. "I... I need to tell you something."_  
_John stripped off his jacket and checked the tear at the base of the collar with distaste._  
_"Go on," he encouraged. "I'm listening."_  
_"No, you are not."_  
_He rolled his eyes, even though his friend couldn't see it._  
_"Fine. Let me make us a cuppa and I will sit down and listen."_  
_Sherlock sighed painfully._  
_"No, no tea, please. Could you just... come and sit? I..."_  
_Another sigh._  
_John focused on Sherlock fully._  
_"Are you sick?"_  
_"No, it's... it's something different. It has been brought to my attention that I've managed to amass a... negative sort of following, in a way. A number of people who would wish me ill, and they would try to reach me though people I care about."_  
_"Was it Mycroft?" John made his own deduction and was rewarded by a ghost of a smile._  
_"It doesn't matter," Sherlock grimaced - which meant yes, it had been Mycroft. "What matters is, for your own good, you should isolate yourself from me. It will be healthier for you in the long run."_  
_"You are an idiot," John declared weakly. "Why would I..."_  
_"John, please. I have to finish..." he caught some air. "There will be a moment when I will have to choose. I will have an option to save you. But I will have to lie to you. To tell you awful things, to push you away, to... To denigrate you, to prove that you mean nothing to me. So that they leave you alone. I will need you to react as naturally as possible. It will all be a trick, a playacting for the audience. But I need you to promise me that you will keep up your end, that you will give your best performance," the pale face turned to the doctor and he noticed his friend was sweating profusely. "I need you to promise me that you will do what you can to convince them... whoever will be looking... that I'm in earnest. Please, will you do this for me?"_  
_"Sherlock..." he whispered, lowering himself to the floor next to the chair. "Why..."_  
_"Please, John. This... this is the most important thing... I have understood that, in fact, your continued survival is quite... quite vital to my continued survival. I can't explain it, but you've become indispensable. At the same time, there are enemies who will not shrink back from killing someone I... someone important to me. My parents, as ex-diplomats, are covered by certain amount of security already, Mycroft is Mycroft, but you..." he breathed heavily. "I can't afford to lose you, John. I will rather... I will do anything. I will say anything. But I can't have you believing this to be the truth, I cannot. I will... I will say awful, terrible things, but I will add... a message for you. You will know it when you hear it."_  
_He hesitantly placed his hand on one bony knee._  
_"I will be there for you, Sherlock," he said seriously. "You don't have to do this alone."_  
_The bounce of curls in negation was his only answer._

_Please, will you do this for me?_  
_will you do this for me?_  
_do this for me?_  
_for me?_

_Please, will you do this for me?_  
_A trick._

He sighed, flexing his hands slowly.  
Two years of keeping the appearances.  
Two years of hoping he had understood the message correctly.  
He had given the most memorable performance of his life.  
He was quite sure even Mycroft believed him in the end.  
Certainly she did.  
She gravitated to him, worked on the grief, supported him.  
Sweet and cute and helpful.  
Milked him for any information about Sherlock he was willing to share.  
Now, finally, he only had to spend one more night in that dreadful flat. He would be coming back home tomorrow.  
Tomorrow couldn't come too soon.


End file.
